Home
by Jack E. Peace
Summary: Kate tries not to care that she's got no where to go home to.


Disclaimer: Not mine. Inspired by "Home" by Marc Broussard.

A/N: Kate drabble. Pre-show, pre-"Born to Run" Review and enjoy.

Looking past her reflection in the grimy window, it was easy for her to see the landscape that was passing by so rapidly. It was another place that she had never been before and it certainly wasn't going to be the last place that was unfamiliar to her, nor was it going to be the last place that she ever saw for the last time. She had long since gotten used to putting things behind her; places, at least, physical items, she could throw over her shoulder and never pick up, look at or think about again. She wished she could say the same thing about the things that she never could dispose of.

In the last couple of days, she had grown every adept at committing things to memory. Places, buildings, landmarks and natural beauties, things that she wanted to remember when she was long gone. The sights of other people's homes. At least she wouldn't have a tough time remembering what she was currently viewing, seeing as there was nothing aside from waving, rust-colored fields as far as the eye could see. The horizon seemed so much lower out her, as though the sky was actually touching the earth instead of simply providing the illusion of such an act. Despite all the open space, she felt very trapped and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Tapping her fingers absently against the window that could have used a good cleaning, though she doubted that there was anyone that would care enough to get the job done, she sought to find a way to amuse herself. That was the only thing she hadn't perfected, during her recent journeys: how to amuse herself while she was on the road.

As though sensing that she was in need of some entertainment, someone dropped into the seat beside her. She frowned without turning in his direction, figuring that that someone had mistaken the need for entertainment for the desire for companionship. Despite the heavy glare that was residing on his seat-partner's face, the man didn't seem at all deterred; he offered her a wry smile, which she pretended not to notice, pushing up the glasses that had slipped forward when he had taken his seat.

"Not much to see." He said. She said nothing in response. "Lots of wheat fields." Again, he got no reply. "You from around here?"

Turning finally, she only glared at him, narrowing her eyes, before turning back toward the window. Maybe he would leave her alone; as much as she hated to be alone with her thoughts, she figured they were better then making idle chat with someone she could have cared less about.

However, the man didn't get the hint. "I'm just passing through." As though she had asked. "Office function. You out here on business?" Again, she gave him no answer; she figured he'd get the point sooner or later. Clearly it was going to be later, rather then sooner. "Or are you going home?"

That question struck her suddenly, though she wasn't sure why and she lost her icy demeanor without even realizing it. Home. It wasn't a word that she had used very often, not lately, not one that she often had in her vocabulary, in her mind. Homes were not for people like her.

But suddenly, she wished that wasn't so. Suddenly, she wished that she could turn to the man and nod and tell him that, yes, she was going home, even if home was some no-man's-land where there happened to be more wheat then people. Suddenly, she wanted very badly to call this place home.

Or, she wanted to be able to tell him that she was on her way home, heading to a place where she had roots and family and safety and, above all things, happiness because that was the one thing that she was sorely missing these days. Home. She worried that she wouldn't even be able to say the word because it was hardly used, it hardly passed her lips. But she wanted to say it suddenly, wanted to nod and tell him that she was going home. And, when she said that, she would actually be able to tell him what home was.

When she answered his question, home was not going to be some shabby motel room; it wasn't going to be the storeroom of a warehouse that had accidentally been unlocked. It wasn't going to be the bed of some man she didn't even know, it wasn't going to be the living room of an elderly couple that took pity on her because of her dirty, cherubic appearance.

But she could hardly remember a home that didn't involve those things. That was why she figured that she didn't use the word very often. She continued to stare out the window, her eyes settling on the towering silos and Americana farmhouses in a different sort of way then they had before. She was looking at someone's home, a place where they returned every night, where they _could _return every night and where they could make memories and be happy and complete and all of the things that she was not and could never be. Not since she had left her home behind.

One of the things that she prided herself on was the fact that she never managed to let anything bother her. She took her hits as they came and she didn't argue their cause or reason and moved on to the next punch. Often times, she took them smiling. _Look at me_, her hard face seemed to say, _I like this. This is fun. I don't mind stealing, lying, begging, it's all an adventure_! But suddenly, she felt as though she couldn't do such a thing anymore, couldn't find it in herself to lie, not again, not to herself, not about this. Never before had homesickness hit her so hard.

She had given up so many things, given up her life, in short, and there was no way she was ever going to get it back. No way she was ever going to go home again.

With a hardened expression on her face, she turned to her traveling companion. "No." She told him firmly, in a tone that she hoped would inspire him not to ask any questions.

However, the man didn't seem to take the hint, which wasn't too surprising. "Still got a ways to travel then? I'm always glad when I know I'm heading back home, I just can't wait to get back to familiar ground." He smiled once more.

It was a gesture she did not return. "I don't care if I ever get home again." She told him frankly, turning away from him before he could question her meaning.

And she had almost managed to convince herself of that.


End file.
